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Authors: Lou Harper
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happy to see the latter’s once-shiny leather loafers now covered in dust. Leo strutted around like he owned the place. He kept yammering on about the wiring. Apparently, being the son of an electrician had made him an expert on everything electric. He was like a smaller and wimpier version of Walter, Bruce thought.
The realization made Bruce like Leo even less. The feeling must’ve been mutual, because past initial niceties, Leo pretty much ignored Bruce and turned all his schmoozy attention to Teag. Bruce hated the presumptuous way he acted toward Teag—casual touches, shoulder squeeze, standing too close and talking to Teag as if there was more between them. Is there? No, not according to Teag’s body language—he kept finding a reason to pull away every time Leo invaded his personal space.
“I can recommend a contractor,” Leo said, self-importantly, while stepping too close to Teag again.
“We have the contractors sorted out already,” Bruce cut in. He’d done most of the sorting—with Teag’s approval, of course. “Erik will be here on Saturday to take care of the electrical stuff. He’s a buddy of mine.” As a matter of fact, they’d been friends growing up, though Erik was a few years older. They’d lost touch after high school, but ran into each other years later. Bruce had persuaded Erik to give Ren Faire a try, and now Erik went every year dressed as a Viking. A real Viking—he gave a lecture on the historical inaccuracy of horned helmets at the drop of a Tudor bonnet.
Leo frowned. “You need a professional—”
“Erik’s a licensed electrician with ten years in the business,” Bruce said more brusquely than necessary, but Leo assuming he’d hire anyone less than professional pissed him off.
Leo glared back, and for a long moment, it seemed they may come to verbal blows, but just then, Dylan and Olly blew in like the El Niño. Jem arrived a few minutes later. Bruce set them to work to clear the room of the remains of the broken tiles and other rubbish. How three skinny young guys could completely fill a large, empty room was a mystery. Maybe it was their constant banter. Their happy chattering soothed Bruce’s ruffled mind, like listening to a flock of birds.
Not so much Leo’s, apparently, because Pretty Boy finally fucked off. Bruce’s mood improved at once. “What are you three scheming about?” he yelled merrily as he spotted the Boys all clumped up and whispering.
They quieted at once and turned toward him. Jem looked sheepish, and Olly turned the color of a cosmopolitan—the cocktail, not the magazine. Dylan was the only one returning Bruce’s questioning gaze with an open and guileless one. Which, of course, convinced Bruce that they really were up to something.
“We’re done cleaning up. What do you want us do next?” Dylan asked with suspicious eagerness.
Oh hell, I’m not the Spanish Inquisition, nor do I play one at Ren Faire , Bruce thought. He probably didn’t want to know what the Boys were up to, anyway. “Grab some tarp and tape and cover up the parrot. Make sure you do it right, or the boss man will have your head,” he added, glancing sideways at Teag, who’d just joined the party.
Dylan snickered. “You said head !”
Bruce put on his sternest expression. “Less chat, more scamper.”
Chastised, Dylan and Olly scurried off, and Bruce wrapped himself into his mantle of gruffness, all the while his thoughts were whirling around blowjobs. He needed to get laid.
Once the parrot painting was safely under wraps, Bruce handed the Boys over to Teag to keep busy and supervise. He only asked that they stay upstairs so he could sand the floor in peace. There really wasn’t much for them to do until after the wiring was done, and it was time to put on the drywall, paint, etcetera. The major thing right now was to finish the floor down there.
They trumped up the stairs, but only out of sight. With the first-floor ceiling gone, every naughty joke and
The realization made Bruce like Leo even less. The feeling must’ve been mutual, because past initial niceties, Leo pretty much ignored Bruce and turned all his schmoozy attention to Teag. Bruce hated the presumptuous way he acted toward Teag—casual touches, shoulder squeeze, standing too close and talking to Teag as if there was more between them. Is there? No, not according to Teag’s body language—he kept finding a reason to pull away every time Leo invaded his personal space.
“I can recommend a contractor,” Leo said, self-importantly, while stepping too close to Teag again.
“We have the contractors sorted out already,” Bruce cut in. He’d done most of the sorting—with Teag’s approval, of course. “Erik will be here on Saturday to take care of the electrical stuff. He’s a buddy of mine.” As a matter of fact, they’d been friends growing up, though Erik was a few years older. They’d lost touch after high school, but ran into each other years later. Bruce had persuaded Erik to give Ren Faire a try, and now Erik went every year dressed as a Viking. A real Viking—he gave a lecture on the historical inaccuracy of horned helmets at the drop of a Tudor bonnet.
Leo frowned. “You need a professional—”
“Erik’s a licensed electrician with ten years in the business,” Bruce said more brusquely than necessary, but Leo assuming he’d hire anyone less than professional pissed him off.
Leo glared back, and for a long moment, it seemed they may come to verbal blows, but just then, Dylan and Olly blew in like the El Niño. Jem arrived a few minutes later. Bruce set them to work to clear the room of the remains of the broken tiles and other rubbish. How three skinny young guys could completely fill a large, empty room was a mystery. Maybe it was their constant banter. Their happy chattering soothed Bruce’s ruffled mind, like listening to a flock of birds.
Not so much Leo’s, apparently, because Pretty Boy finally fucked off. Bruce’s mood improved at once. “What are you three scheming about?” he yelled merrily as he spotted the Boys all clumped up and whispering.
They quieted at once and turned toward him. Jem looked sheepish, and Olly turned the color of a cosmopolitan—the cocktail, not the magazine. Dylan was the only one returning Bruce’s questioning gaze with an open and guileless one. Which, of course, convinced Bruce that they really were up to something.
“We’re done cleaning up. What do you want us do next?” Dylan asked with suspicious eagerness.
Oh hell, I’m not the Spanish Inquisition, nor do I play one at Ren Faire , Bruce thought. He probably didn’t want to know what the Boys were up to, anyway. “Grab some tarp and tape and cover up the parrot. Make sure you do it right, or the boss man will have your head,” he added, glancing sideways at Teag, who’d just joined the party.
Dylan snickered. “You said head !”
Bruce put on his sternest expression. “Less chat, more scamper.”
Chastised, Dylan and Olly scurried off, and Bruce wrapped himself into his mantle of gruffness, all the while his thoughts were whirling around blowjobs. He needed to get laid.
Once the parrot painting was safely under wraps, Bruce handed the Boys over to Teag to keep busy and supervise. He only asked that they stay upstairs so he could sand the floor in peace. There really wasn’t much for them to do until after the wiring was done, and it was time to put on the drywall, paint, etcetera. The major thing right now was to finish the floor down there.
They trumped up the stairs, but only out of sight. With the first-floor ceiling gone, every naughty joke and
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